


(A Promise Of) Goodbye

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: X Company
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: Grief taps out its own Morse code.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene for “Promises.” Recognizable dialogue poached from “One For The Moon” and “Promises.”

_Give me a hand…_

(It’s too late though: by the time they reach safety, well back in the wood and away from the tracks, Harry’s already gone.)

~~~~~

What they couldn’t do for René, or Tom, or Miri, at least they can pause and do for Harry now.

Neil leaves Harry with Alfred, goes to dig the grave himself. But the Polish resistance leader stops him, nods at two of her men to undertake the task instead.

“Stay with your friend,” she says.

Her meaning is clear. Neil returns to Alfred and Harry, sinks to his knees beside them on the still-damp grass and pulls Harry close. With clarity borne of disbelief, he stares around at where the fighters have brought them. He thinks that Harry will love it here: a glade filled with late-afternoon sunshine, under two giant beech trees for shade, and by a small lake, perfect for swimming on hot summer days. It’s beautiful, it’s _serene_ , it’s _idyllic_ , words he wouldn’t use but Harry would and so they stand.

Grief taps out its own Morse code. _All our loves, all our loves_ , Neil hears with every scrape of spade on earth. Harry’s just the latest in a long, unbroken string.

_To absent friends._

_To the love they left behind._

They had raised that toast last night in Paris, after Harry successfully hijacked Hitler’s address. How could _this_ have happened in less than one fucking _day_?

 _All our loves._ Another star in the sky looking down, lighting the way.

(But _Jesus Christ_ , he needs Harry’s warmth and light shining _here_. Blazing at his side, not a million miles away and impossible to reach.)

The worst of it, he thinks, is that he’ll never know what Harry meant about Humphrey Bogart. Of all the stupid things to consider: Harry’s not an hour dead, and the train survivors deserve far more respect than this. But the laughter bubbles anyway, harsh and bitter in his chest. He buries his face in Harry’s unblemished shoulder ‘til the fit subsides; thankful that laughter and sobbing sound exactly the same.

When the shallow grave is ready he looks dry-eyed at Alfred who’s been keeping silent vigil beside them. Neither man speaks; Alfred simply swallows, climbs to his feet and steps back with a shaky nod. Neil never noticed, but Alfred’s somehow managed to clean Harry up in the meantime: wiped away the blood, closed his eyes. Neil rises and picks Harry up, noting how his body is beginning to cool. He stumbles once, pitching off-balance when he gets to his feet. Alfred catches and steadies him, and together they walk the final twenty paces.

Neil is determined not to falter the rest of the way. He lays Harry down reverently in the earthen cradle, folds his hands across his middle; he blinks, then sighs, and smooths Harry’s hair off his face for the first and last time. Except for the stains on his shirt and jacket, Harry looks like he’s just taking a nap.

_Wake up, Harry._

How many times had he teased Harry in the past for being a kid, when at the end he might have been the most grown-up among them?

_Stop playing possum. Game’s over, yeah?_

He reaches out to shake Harry’s shoulder. _Wake_ up, _you bastard! Do you hear me? Wake up!_

Alfred lays a hand on Neil’s elbow, gently pulls him to his feet and back to his bearings. The resistance leader signals two more of her men to take over the hardest job, covering the body with the freshly dug dirt. Neil makes himself watch the burial because he owes Harry that. He flinches when the men cover Harry’s face, but does not close his eyes as the earth lands; as Harry disappears.

_All our loves._

Neil stands grim-faced and envies Alfred, who weeps openly beside him. He’s glad for it: someone should cry for Harry now. He should, dear God he wants to, but each successive death ironically brings fewer tears to shed. His eyes are dry, dry, dry. He comes close once, when Alfred presses something cool and smooth into his palm: Harry’s glasses. His fingers curl around them; his vision blurs, his breath hitches once or twice. But nothing falls, not even a trickle.

( _I stopped counting, I had to_ , Jacques Rigaud had told him. After today he gets it now.)

When the two Polish men finish, they step back to leave just Neil and Alfred at the unmarked grave. Neil is absurdly grateful for this kindness from these strangers, who don’t know them from Adam but who grieve with them anyway. He and Alfred sit on their heels beside the mound, him with Harry’s glasses and Alfred with a handful of fragrant grass that he holds to his nose.

Someone should say something meaningful, he thinks: a prayer, a few words, Harry’s name. But Alfred can’t, too lost in memories now, and his throat is too tight and parched to force any words past either. So instead he sniffs, exhales, contemplates the weight of Harry’s glasses in his hand. He bows his head, listening to far-above birdsong, to the gentle breeze rustling the leaves and drying the last vestiges of the rain.

Neil’s hand trembles and he scrubs his too-hot face, pinches his nose. It’s then that a voice breaks the silence. “We're going to take you all back to our camp.”

Her men and the other train survivors behind them rise, leave in single file. Neil and Alfred hang back, reluctant to leave: if they do, then this is real. The leader addresses them again, heavily but with authority: “We have to go.”

Neil said the very same words to Harry once, in flight to save their own skin. But there’s nothing left to save now. Even though this time he’s kept his promise for someone he loves – a burial for Harry, a promise of goodbye – it doesn’t change the facts. Harry’s dead. They move along. That’s how it is. All he can do is rise and walk away, and leave another piece of his own dying heart behind.


End file.
